Every Dream has its Price
by inxpitter
Summary: A short story about Jaune before he goes to Beacon. Reviews, both critical and general encouragement, are welcome. Hope you enjoy. I do not own RWBY.


Jaune was limping home again. He had been found in the brush by some of the students of Flare Academy, and they weren't too appreciative of him spying on classes. He wasn't too badly hurt, they just used him for target practice mostly. As they put it, he was paying for the lessons with his body.

"Ow, ow, ow."

He sighed as he approached the front gates. The cold iron squealed in protest as he wrenched them open. The small piece of land had been bought by his great-grandfather after the war, and the Arc family had called it home ever since. However, the surrounding land had been bought up by the Schnee Dust Company for potential dust mining. If it wasn't for the Arc family legacy they would have been forced to sell.

"Mom! I'm home!"

There was no reply as Jaune entered the house. On the kitchen table was a plate of sandwiches with a note.

_Jaune, an old friend called me up. I'll be home late tonight so be sure to finish your chores. And don't sneak off to Flare again, I've gotten numerous complaints that you've been watching their training sessions without permission. You might be able to attend after we save for another year. Try some self-practice until then. Love Mom_.

She had found out. Jaune sighed as he folded up the note and slipped it into his pocket. Taking the plate of sandwiches, he went out back to the yard. It was arguably the best part of the small property, a small natural grove where his ancestors had trained for battle. Under the canopy was a small practice dummy, donned with a light chest plate and shoulder pads. At its side was the Crocea Mors, the family sword.

A few moments later he had taken the dummy's armaments and was circling it, sword drawn and shield up.

"Yaa!" he yelled as he charged the dummy. His sword clanged against its bucket head and he dropped the sword from the painful vibrations. After a few moments, the numb sensation passed and he picked up his weapon.

Instead of attacking the dummy again, he instead went back to his plate of sandwiches. The wooden post that made up the practice dummy was covered with several notches made from years of practice. Jaune had learned all he could from his training partner. What he needed now was a mentor.

The plate now empty, Jaune headed back inside not bothering to remove his armor.

"Mr. Arc I presume?"

"Wha-!?"

Jaune was startled to find a man sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a beverage. His black hair was slicked back and the suit he wore was impeccable. He smiled at Jaune, and gestured at the other chair.

"Please have a seat," he said warmly.

"What are you doing in my house?" Jaune had drawn the Crocea Mors and pressed his back against the door.

"Please, there's no need for unpleasantries. I found the door unlocked and made myself comfortable as I waited for you to finish out back. Forgive me if I have overstepped my bounds."

Jaune was hesitant, but the stranger had made no movement when he had readied his weapon. He put away his sword and warily sat down.

"Are you from Flare Academy?" Jaune asked him. "Look, I promise to stop watching the practice sessions, but if there's something you can do about the tuition-"

The man started to laugh, and Jaune stopped talking.

"Forgive me," the stranger apologized. "I would never be associated with such a sub-par establishment."

"What?"

"Flare Academy is an institution to train youngsters for basic military duties. I'd hardly call it a suitable for someone of your unique talents."

"My talents?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Arc. Someone with your ancestry has an inborn talent for combat. I'm surprised you haven't been accepted into a prestigious academy such as Beacon Academy."

"I don't have a lot of funds," Juane admitted. "And I didn't exactly do well at the entrance exams."

The stranger held his hand up in protest.

"A young seed needs the proper soil to grow," he stated. "I'm sure if you were in the right situation, you would rise to the challenge."

"Yeah," Jaune agreed, his confidence growing. But his expression fell. "But I'd never be able to pass the exams to get in."

The stranger smiled, and set his briefcase on the table. He unlocked the clasps and pulled out several papers which he set on the table. He motioned for Jaune to take them.

"Huh?" Jaune read the documents over, and looked up in disbelief. "These are-"

"Everything you need in order to get to where you belong."

Jaune held the transcripts as if they were a precious stones. This was his ticket to Beacon, a chance to prove what he could really do. He glanced at the kitchen wall, where the portraits of his ancestors hung. He could finally be like his father. He could finally be hero.

"Wow, thank you so much Mr…"

"Devoss," he finished. "You may call me Devoss."

"Thank you so much Devoss."

"Not at all. I'm simply helping promising youngsters get to where they need to be."

"So you're from Beacon?" Jaune asked, as continued staring at the transcripts.

"Unfortunately no."

Jaune looked up, confused.

"Wait. Then how did you get these?"

"They're forgeries," he stated simply. "Good enough to fool anyone at Beacon, even Ozpin himself."

"But…" Jaune stood up, his excitement waning. "Then you're not here to personally recruit me?"

"My boy, don't be so alarmed." The way Devoss spoke was strange, and Jaune felt himself relax as he sat back down.

"I personally believe there are talented individuals such as yourself that require a different approach to schooling. I have made it my personal goal to see you and several other get to Beacon, and help you through your journey as a benefactor."

"But wouldn't I still be sneaking in?"

"There are of course some rules that need to be bent, but surely you can see that this is for your future, and the future of Vale."

"Yeah…" Jaune agreed, "the future of Vale."

"I will be in contact with you, but please proceed accordingly as a normal student at Beacon." Devoss placed a small box on the table.

"A personal scroll for you," he remarked as he got up to leave. "And one last thing. Promise to perform at the best of your abilities."

"Yes! Definitely!"

Devoss smiled and saw himself out, leaving a very excited Jaune. No more spying on Flare Academy for combat techniques or practicing against a dummy in the yard. He was going to Beacon. He was going to be a hero.

* * *

Devoss was waiting at the docks, a small book in his hands. He calmly ignored the shady characters that leered at him as he read under the lamppost.

"Have I kept you waiting old friend?"

Devoss smiled as a man in a white suit approached him. He closed his book, and placed it back in his briefcase.

"Roman," he greeted, a grin on his lips. "It has been too long."

"Now, now, the pleasantries will have to stop at that. I unfortunately have other matters to attend so this will have to be quick."

Devoss nodded, and pulled out a folder of documents.

"These are the dossiers of the students I've recruited. The documents are virtually identical to the real things, and I have confidence in most of their abilities that they won't be singled out."

"Hmm," Roman hummed as he looked over the documents. "Excellent. And you're sure that they can be easily controlled?"

Devoss smiled slyly.

"Roman, if there's one thing I've learned in the past few years, it's that when you have the potential for glory, most will do anything to keep it. And the weaker you are, the tighter you hold it."


End file.
